Blue Bird
by prospectkiss
Summary: Set shortly after the class trial. Phoenix is left alone with Miles in an uncomfortable situation. A tentative friendship, and understanding, begins to grow.


"Is this thing even alive anymore?"

"Stop poking it with the stick, Larry!"

Phoenix halfheartedly pushed against his friend's shoulder to make him quit messing with the fallen bird on the grass.

It was small, round and blue and utterly, deathly still and stiff, looking up at them with unseeing eyes. It made something inside Phoenix's chest lurch, like a sob that didn't know how to come out. He could feel tears forming as he stared at the creature beneath them, and he quickly wiped his hands over his eyes. Everyone else already thought he was a cry-baby; he couldn't afford to look weak in front of the only two kids left in the class who still talked to him.

Larry, despite Phoenix's protest, remained undeterred.

"But we can't touch it, right? Then how will we know if it's dead?" He poked the bird again, causing it to spin around.

Phoenix drew in a sharp breath, eyes narrowed with anger. But before he could yell at Larry for being stupid or just mean, Miles spoke up.

"If it was alive, it would have flown away when you started touching it with the stick," he said, standing beside Phoenix. "So it's dead."

Apparently satisfied, Larry harrumphed and tossed the tree branch aside. "So what should we do?"

Miles gave him a dubious look. "Do? What do you mean?"

Larry rolled his eyes. "Whaddaya wanna do with the dead bird?"

Lip curling slightly, frowning, Miles backed away. "I don't want to do anything with it!"

"Maybe we can kick it!" Larry had a mad gleam in his eye. "See how far it goes?"

"That's horrible!"

The two of them started arguing behind him. Phoenix ignored them, and knelt down next to the body of the bird. He'd never seen something dead before. Well, he'd seen dead spiders and dead bugs, but he didn't think those counted. Even at his great-aunt's funeral, his parents didn't let him see what was inside the shiny closed coffin.

The bird felt more real. It lay motionless on the ground, instead of soaring through the air. Like it wasn't a bird anymore. Broken. Defeated.

Dead.

"We should bury it."

He heard Miles halt. "We should what? OW! Larry!"

Phoenix stood and turned, voice more sure. "We should bury it."

Larry held Miles's arms pinned behind his back and stared at Phoenix. "Why should we do that, Nick?"

"Because it's the right thing to do." He tried to sound confident, like Miles did in class, with that air of superiority like the teacher.

"That doesn't sound like fun."

"Well, you don't have to if you don't want to." Phoenix looked at the ground, chewing his bottom lip. "But I'm going to."

"I'll help."

Miles shrugged out of Larry's grasp and bent down to look at the bird, like Phoenix had earlier, studying it.

"That's gross. You guys are weird." Larry wiped some of the dirt off his face and smudged it across the front of his tee-shirt. "I'm gonna go play with the girls. Laters!" He took off across the park, heading for a group of girls jumping rope on the other side of the area.

It had been only a couple of days after the class trial. Phoenix had looked up to his savior, had been so happy when Miles agreed to play with him and Larry. But now it was just the two of them. Without Larry around, Phoenix felt a bit shy. He stood back, scuffing his sneakers along the ground, waiting for Miles to say something.

Miles finally rose and brushed off the non-existent dirt from his shorts. "We need to get a box to bury it in."

Their eyes met, and Phoenix felt like he was expected to come up with an idea. "Um, I have an old shoebox at home."

"That should work. I'll get some gloves. Meet me back here in ten minutes."

He ran as fast as he could, digging through his closet until he found the dusty box. With a quick wave to his mother, Phoenix slammed the door behind him and headed back to the park.

Miles was already there. He lived closer, so that wasn't surprising, though Phoenix felt a little disappointed that he'd made him wait. He had brought a pair of oversized, yellow plastic gloves, like the kind Phoenix sometimes saw his mother wear while doing dishes. Miles slipped them on; they were too big, but he still tried to look as dignified as possible.

Gingerly, Miles picked up the dead blue bird and placed it inside, and Phoenix closed the lid.

They stared at each other. Phoenix never realized Miles's eyes were grey, like clouds. It made him look... smart, and a little sad.

"What do we do now?"

Miles frowned. "What do you mean? You wanted to bury it, right?"

He nodded, holding the box close to his chest.

"So let's go bury it."

After a brief discussion of exactly _where_ to bury the dead bird, Miles threw away the yellow gloves in the park trash can and followed Phoenix back to his house. The two of them moved quietly, speaking little, and Phoenix kept sneaking glances at the somber-faced boy beside him. They walked slowly, though Phoenix wasn't sure why. Maybe because it was a solemn thing, the burial, and that hurrying felt disrespectful.

Maybe it was because Phoenix felt a little nervous with Miles.

They went through the gate to his backyard, past the treehouse, and to a corner by the fence. There was less grass and more dirt there, so the yard wouldn't be messed up as much by burying the bird. Phoenix gently set the box on the ground.

Miles looked at him. "We need a shovel."

After rooting through the tools and boxes in the garage, Phoenix finally found a gardening spade. It would have to do.

They took turns digging into the dirt with the spade; the ground was harder to break than either of them anticipated. Making a hole deep enough for the box took a surprising amount of work.

But Miles didn't complain, like Larry would have. He just calmly, methodically dug into the ground, handing the spade back to Phoenix after a few minutes. The pile of dirt grew higher, and the space in the ground grew larger. Slowly, turn by turn, they made a place just large enough.

Phoenix carefully placed the shoebox into the ground. It felt like dropping a toy into a pool, one that sank into the dark depths. But this time no one would dive down and bring it back. It made his chest hurt.

He used his bare hands to push the loose pile of dirt over the box and back into place. After a moment of hesitation, Miles helped. Phoenix found some small, smooth stones and stacked them on top of the dirt.

They brushed off their hands and stood side by side, staring at the makeshift grave. Larry never would have helped him do this. But Miles – Phoenix felt something else stir in his chest. It was like Miles understood him, and maybe he could understand Miles.

Phoenix swallowed around a lump in his throat.

"We should say something," he said, digging his toe into the ground.

"Like what?"

He thought for a moment, remembering his great-aunt's funeral. People had said nice things, had shared memories of her. He didn't know the bird, or have any memories of it being alive. He didn't _know_ what to say, and that made him feel... awful. He fidgeted, weight shifting on his feet, and bit at his lower lip again. He was going to start crying again, and he hated it.

And then Miles began to speak.

"We didn't know this bird. But it used to be alive, and it probably loved to fly. And it's sad that it won't do that anymore. But maybe it's flying now, wherever it's gone. Flying, and happy."

Phoenix stared at Miles, eyes wide. Miles looked back, and Phoenix was astonished to see that he was nervous too. He shifted a little closer, shoulders brushing. He was sad, and Miles was warm.

Miles drew in a long breath. "Rest in peace, blue bird."

Phoenix nodded, throat tight. "Rest in peace."


End file.
